


Breaking Point

by JuliaJekyll



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Feels, Brief thoughts of suicide, Declarations Of Love, Desire, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, First Kiss, Fix-It of Sorts, Hand Jobs, I Love You, Insecure Crowley (Good Omens), Kissing, Love, M/M, Masturbation, Missing Scene, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Romance, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Virgin Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23440675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaJekyll/pseuds/JuliaJekyll
Summary: "Deleted scenes" from the series that chronicle the love story between Crowley and Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 56
Kudos: 154





	1. Scotch (Episode 1)

**Author's Note:**

> So my father and I started re-watching Good Omens today and I had the idea to write a missing scene from each chapter and attempt a kind of fix-it fic in which there is more romance. Obviously.
> 
> This first chapter takes place at the very end of episode 1.

“Welcome to the end times.” There wasn’t even the slightest edge of sarcasm in the angel’s voice as he raised his glass of scotch to his lips, then seemed to think better of it and lowered it again. 

Crowley wished that his drinking companion  _ was  _ being sarcastic; wished it so much that he could feel the caustic, snappish scratch of sarcasm in his own throat, scraping against his Adam’s apple, trying to get him to say something careless and sharp. He resisted, just as he resisted picking up his own glass of scotch, which Aziraphale had just poured for him, and throwing it back in a single swallow. Instead, he nodded at Aziraphale’s drink, which he had taken away from his mouth but hadn’t set down. “Drink up, angel,” he said dryly, even as his vocal cords seemed to buzz irritably with a hundred sardonic remarks. He swallowed; he could feel a sore throat coming on, or maybe that was just the ache of everything he wasn’t saying. “Pretty soon you won’t have your stores of booze to dip into anymore.” 

Aziraphale gave him a mutinous look, but sipped his drink resignedly. Crowley lifted his own glass and swirled it a bit, watching the liquid within slosh smoothly. “You’ve broken out the good stuff,” he observed, before taking a carefully measured sip. It was harder than he’d thought it would be not to simply bolt it down. He wanted, very badly, to be drunk. 

“Seemed only right for the end of the world,” Aziraphale said, his tone uncharacteristically clipped. He stood up and moved over to the bookshelf, and Crowley took the opportunity to swallow some more of his scotch. 

“I haven’t read this in years,” Aziraphale said, taking down a slightly worn but well cared-for hardback copy of Kate Chopin’s  _ The Awakening  _ and setting it down on the table _.  _ He gently ran a hand over the book’s cover, a touch of reverence in his gaze. “I do believe I’d like to read it one last time, before the end. It’s quite short, you know, but the language…” he closed his eyes briefly, his fingers still lightly brushing the book. “Well. It’s…” The fingers of his free hand danced in the air, as though he were typing something on an invisible, airborne typewriter. “It’s lovely,” he finished, rather lamely, and reached for his scotch again. 

Crowley was still. This was a book he’d actually read, a century or so ago when he’d been feeling literary - the story of a married woman falling in love and having a sexually passionate affair with an artist.  _ Interesting, very interesting.  _ Crowley realised that his mouth had gone dry and he took another swallow of scotch, as though that would help. 

Aziraphale’s eyes flickered from the book to Crowley’s face. He smiled, but it looked forced, and Crowley hated that. He’d never liked watching Aziraphale pretend to be something he wasn’t. 

At last, Crowley gave up and drained his glass, then raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale, wordlessly asking for more. Just as wordlessly, Aziraphale filled both their glasses again. This time, they clinked their glasses together, then slammed them back simultaneously like a couple of blokes who’d gone out for happy hour. A high-pitched, trembling chuckle escaped Aziraphale, and Crowley wanted to squeeze his glass in his fist until it shattered. Aziraphale should never sound so strained; so stressed. Crowley felt an absurd pang of guilt for having brought Aziraphale into this in the first place. Perhaps it would have been better not to tell him anything about Armaggeddon; to simply let him go on living as he had been for the past however many years. But no; that would have rendered the whole situation hopeless, and Crowley could not have borne that. There was only so much a demon could handle alone. 

“So that’s what you want?” he heard himself ask, reaching for the scotch to pour another glass for himself, because who cared about decorum at this point? The world had a finite amount of time left, and Crowley would not leave more good scotch in it to be destroyed than was strictly necessary, not if he could help it. Scotch like this deserved to get someone wasted before it went down with the ship, so to speak. “You want to read that book one more time, and that’s it, before everything ends? You don’t want to, I don’t know, go skydiving, or buy a smartphone, or sing karaoke, nothing like that?” 

Aziraphale bristled, shaking his head. He did not remark on Crowley pouring scotch for himself, he just reached for the container and sloshed a generous measure into his own glass. “I”m a simple man, Crowley,” he said tersely. 

“No, you’re not.” Crowley could not even count in how many ways he meant that. 

Aziraphale was still shaking his head as he continued drinking. “Alright then, you clever bugger; what is it  _ you  _ want to do before it all goes up in smoke, as it were?” 

Crowley almost laughed. He raised his eyes to meet Aziraphale’s, because there was only one thing he wanted, and Aziraphale had to know what it was. There was no way even he could have missed it, not after all this time. 

Aziraphale stared at him blankly, and then Crowley realised that he was still wearing his sunglasses. He took them off, tossed them aside, met Aziraphale’s eyes. 

Aziraphale opened his mouth, then shut it. He put down his scotch. “Oh,” he said softly, his fingers going to his collar. 

_ Bit hot and bothered, are you, angel? I know what that’s like.  _ Crowley didn’t shift his eyes from Aziraphale’s. Better to meet this; better not to be a coward now. He’d wasted too much time being afraid of what he felt. If ever there was a time to tell the love of your life what you were feeling, surely it was now. Crowley supposed he ought to count himself lucky; unlike all the other poor lovelorn bastards out there who’d never had the spine to tell the objects of their affection what was really going on in their heads or hearts or loins or what have you, he  _ knew  _ that the world was ending; knew that he was running out of time, running out of chances, to tell the truth. 

Demons weren’t supposed to be particularly honest, but he wouldn’t lie to Aziraphale, not now. 

_ Would I lie to you?  _

_ Obviously. You’re a demon. That’s what you do.  _

Aziraphale had gone quite red. Crowley saw him swallow, and he wanted to press his mouth against that slender throat, dig his teeth in, whisper the words he’d been keeping to himself for centuries. 

Aziraphale licked his lips, and that was simply unfair; how much of this was Crowley going to be expected to endure? 

“You can say no, you know,” Crowley said, staring into his drink. “I’m easy.” 

“No, you’re not,” Aziraphale said, echoing Crowley’s words from before. “You’re anything but.” 

They stared at each other for a solid minute before Crowley leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. “I really hope you’re not going to make me say it,” he said. 

Aziraphale’s gaze did not waver. “I find I’d rather like you to,” he replied softly. 

Crowley cursed mentally. Of course his hedonistic angel wanted to hear it. Well, Crowley couldn’t deny him. “I want what I’ve always wanted,” he said. “You.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes were dry, his face flushed. He nodded slowly. “I know,” he answered.

“Of course you do.” Crowley threw back his drink. It sloshed over the snippy sarcasm, washing it down and away until only sincerity remained. He fixed Aziraphale with a stare, with his eyes that could unnerve almost anyone, and said “So, don’t torture me. Either you’ll let me have it, or you won’t.” 

“I will.” Aziraphale pushed his still-full glass aside. “You have no idea, Crowley; no idea how much  _ I’ve  _ wanted-” 

“Can I, angel?” Crowley asked, breathless. “Can I,  _ please? _ ” He was trembling now, and he couldn’t even be annoyed by the fact, because Aziraphale was here, and he wasn’t saying no. He was saying  _ yes, yes,  _ just as Crowley had always hoped he would if he ever got enough of a backbone to ask him this question. 

Aziraphale didn’t speak again. He just leaned forward and kissed Crowley. 

Crowley closed his eyes automatically. The scotch they’d been drinking tasted better, much better, on Aziraphale’s lips. 

Crowley’s hands were on either side of Aziraphale’s neck before he really realised what he was doing. He bent his head, taking ownership of the kiss, claiming it for himself, claiming it in the name of the centuries of desire he’d lived through without saying a thing. He licked at Aziraphale’s mouth, chasing the taste of his angel, relishing the cut-off moan that Aziraphale released down his throat. Their tongues clashed, Aziraphale’s hand found its way into Crowley’s hair, and Crowley let himself forget, for several seconds, the reason why he was here in the first place.    
  
When they pulled apart, Aziraphale was panting, and Crowley was rock-hard in his trousers, a fact that he was determined to conceal by any means necessary. They stared at each other, eyes flickering to lips, brains contemplating a second kiss. 

Aziraphale was the first to recover. He arranged his hands in front of him on the table and eyed Crowley with a mix of fear and determination in his eyes. “So,” he said, and his voice shook a bit. “I don’t suppose you have a plan B for avoiding the apocalypse?” 

Crowley licked his lips, and this time it was Aziraphale whose attention was drawn. “Angel,” he said, “I’d plan all the way to Z if it meant I’d get to kiss you again.” 

Aziraphale blushed, but he didn’t look away. He merely nodded. “It would,” he said simply. “It  _ would  _ mean that.’ 

“Well then.” Crowley leaned in, ignoring the pounding of his heart, the electricity flowing through his veins as he got closer to his angel, this angel who had just given him the snog of the century. “Let’s brainstorm.” 


	2. Plan B (Episode 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode 2: just before Crowley drives them to the former hospital.

Crowley did not lift the pedal from the floor the entire drive to Aziraphale’s bookshop. Without the angel in the car he could go as fast as he wanted, and he used that to full advantage. It was a good thing he’d been driving nearly since cars had been invented, because his brain had kicked into overdrive and very little of it was concentrating on the road in front of him. 

He should be thinking about what Aziraphale had said on the phone: _was_ it possible that some sort of mistake had been made with the baby-swap? Had he actually messed up the most important assignment of his demonic career? If he had, he was utterly screwed; more screwed than he’d originally thought he’d be when the world ended. 

His mind should be running through all the possibilities: what wires could have got crossed, at what point the process might have been compromised, not to mention what might happen to him if it turned out to be all his fault. But all that was muddled and distracted in his head because of his memories of that kiss a few nights ago, and his desperate hope that another one might be forthcoming before they headed out on whatever mission Aziraphale had in mind for them today.

Crowley glanced up at his reflection in the rear view mirror. Those lips, he reminded himself, had been kissed by an angel, by Aziraphale, no less. He couldn’t help smiling a little. At least if he was going down, he wasn’t going down without the knowledge of what Aziraphale’s mouth felt like. 

The kiss hadn’t been exactly what he’d wanted - no one had disrobed, for a start - but it had been beautiful and perfect and blindingly sweet all the same. Crowley’s fingers tightened involuntarily on the wheel. If he were a braver man, he’d greet Aziraphale with a kiss today. He’d make the assumption that kissing was simply a thing they did, now. 

He wasn’t that brave, though. What courage he had had all gone towards telling Aziraphale that he wanted to kiss him in the first place. 

_Focus, Anthony,_ he admonished himself, miracling the Bentley to go just a bit faster. Soon enough, he’d see the angel again, and then he’d be able to figure out where he stood. 

A dry chuckle escaped him at that thought. Yeah, right; because he’d _always_ found it perfectly simple to figure out where he stood with Aziraphale. Sheer bollocks. 

He pulled up outside the bookshop and hopped out of the car almost before it had stopped moving, snapping his fingers over his shoulder to miracle the gear stick into park. He didn’t want to give Aziraphale the chance to come out and jump in; he needed to see him first, one-on-one. 

Crowley pushed open the door of the shop. At first glance, the place appeared to be empty. The table where they’d sat drinking scotch - where Crowley had had his first kiss, not that he’d ever tell the angel that - was scattered with various manuscripts, but the angel was nowhere to be seen. “Aziraphale?” Crowley called. 

Aziraphale emerged from the back room at once, looking flustered. “Ah, hello, dear boy! You certainly came...er, quickly.” 

Crowley had to stifle a smirk at that remark. That was probably what Aziraphale would say, he reflected, if he ever managed to get him into bed. Crowley was not ashamed of his virginity, but he wasn’t particularly proud of it either, and he was aware that the first time didn’t tend to be all that good. 

He cleared his throat. Now was hardly the time to be thinking of...that. “You said you had an idea,” he said, feeling the color rush to his face. He wasn’t blushing, he _wasn’t_ ; demons did not blush. 

“Right.” Aziraphale looked just as awkward as Crowley felt, and it was making Crowley progressively more uncomfortable. “Er...I just think we should explore every possibility.” 

“And right you are, as usual,” Crowley said diplomatically. “But what did you have in mind? I mean, we - my side, that is - we planned it carefully, for years. That convent was created for the sole purpose of switching out the Antichrist with someone else’s kid. Where in the chain do you think it might have gone wrong?” He was hoping, very much, that Aziraphale wasn’t simply going to pin the mix-up on him. It was bizarre logic, perhaps, but Crowley really didn’t want Aziraphale to think that he was just a perennial screw-up who was terrible at his job and ruined everything he touched. The fact that that was probably the case notwithstanding.

“I think the most logical starting point,” Aziraphale said, sounding more normal and businesslike now, “would be the hospital where the child was born. Perhaps some of the nuns who delivered the baby are still there - that’s a bit of a long shot, I admit, but even so, surely a hospital would have kept some kind of documentation of the births that took place within its walls. We might be able to turn something up if we go there.” Aziraphale fiddled with the button on one of his cuffs. “What do you think?” 

“Worth a shot,” Crowley said. 

“Do you remember how to get there?” 

“Give me some credit, angel. Of course I remember.” 

“Well. I just thought - I mean, it’s been eleven years since you were there last.” 

Crowley shrugged. “What’s eleven years in six thousand?” He twirled his keys around on one finger. “Shall we?” 

“Just a moment.” Aziraphale stepped forward, closer to Crowley. Crowley felt his heart speed up a little. “I think...that is, I rather thought we ought to address...ah-”

“The kiss. Just say it, angel,” Crowley said, his voice coming out steady against all odds. 

Aziraphale coughed. “Yes. The kiss.” He looked up into Crowley’s eyes. “I meant what I said, you know. That we could...do it again.” 

Crowley felt suddenly short of breath. “Well, you’re an angel,” he said, keeping his tone cool and controlled by sheer force of will. “I didn’t think you were lying.” 

Aziraphale smiled. “Yes, well.” He took another step closer, so that there were only centimeters between them. Centimeters, and thousands of years of multilayered interactions. He reached for Crowley’s hand. “Would you like…?” 

  
“I’d like it more,” Crowley said softly, “if it was you.” 

“You overestimate the amount of encouragement I need,” Aziraphale said, and leaned in. Crowley closed his eyes in anticipation, but instead of kissing him on the mouth, Aziraphale brushed his lips over the skin just under his ear, and Crowley was immediately consumed by a full-body shiver. “Angel-” 

“Shh.” Aziraphale’s lips moved up to his earlobe, and for one terrible second, Crowley was absolutely sure that he was going to come in his trousers. 

“Aziraphale, I...oh.” Crowley arched his neck as Aziraphale kissed it. After a moment, the angel pulled back and looked at him with soft eyes. 

“I love you,” Crowley said, and immediately clapped his mouth shut. He had absolutely _not_ intended to say that. It had been pulled from his chest by Aziraphale’s kiss, by those beautiful, gentle eyes of his. The line he’d kept those three words on for centuries had finally snapped. 

Horrified at himself, Crowley waited for Aziraphale’s reaction, but the angel just smiled serenely and kissed Crowley’s neck again. Unable to help himself, Crowley met him on the way up in a searing mouth-to-mouth kiss, and this time it was Aziraphale who pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around Crowley. 

“If this doesn’t work,” Aziraphale whispered against his lips, “I want to be able to remember that I had you.” 

Crowley kissed him again. “Don’t think like that yet,” he said softly. “Come on. Plan B is a go.” 


	3. Introspection (Episodes 3 and 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale - right after the bandstand argument in episode 3. 
> 
> Crowley - before Hastur visits him in the cinema in episode 4.

There wasn’t a single angel in Heaven who wasn’t intimately acquainted with guilt. 

It was usually other people’s, though, rather than their own. 

Aziraphale had never socialised much with his fellow heavenly beings, but he knew that angels rarely felt remorse over things they’d done. Someone like Sandalphon, who was directly responsible for the deaths of literally thousands of humans, would brush that off like it was nothing. Angels heard the prayers of sinners who felt bad because they’d done something wrong, but they almost never looked back at their own actions and thought they’d mucked anything up. Guilt, it was generally believed, was something for humans to feel. 

Then there was Aziraphale, always an outlier, who had just deeply wounded his best friend and possible lover and was feeling utterly wretched about it. 

“I told him I didn’t even like him,” he said out loud to the bookshop at large. He couldn’t help a bitter chuckle at the memory. Who knew an angel could lie so blatantly? He could give the folks on _Would I Lie To You?_ a run for their money. 

In an uncharacteristic surge of anger, Aziraphale swatted a stack of pamphlets off his desk and onto the floor. _What an absolutely abysmal friend I am_ , he thought miserably. There was simply no excuse for repaying everything Crowley had ever done for him by abandoning him; by telling him they weren’t friends; by kissing him and then refusing to escape with him. 

Aziraphale sank into his desk chair, closing his eyes and resting his head in his hands. For a moment, he let himself indulge in his memories of the kisses they’d shared: Crowley’s mouth on his, eager and warm; Crowley’s hands on his neck, Crowley’s lean body pressed against his own, the silky smooth feeling of the skin under Crowley’s ear. 

“He told me he loved me,” Aziraphale said into his hands. “He loves me. Crowley _loves_ me. I mean, I knew that, but now he’s _said_ it.” He sighed. 

The one saving grace (if you’d pardon the phrasing) was that Aziraphale hadn’t just lied to Crowley about not knowing where the Antichrist was. He’d lied to Heaven, too. No one except him (and Sergeant Shadwell, but he hardly counted) knew the boy’s precise whereabouts. 

He could still redeem himself. He could still change things. He could still prevent Armageddon, and hopefully save his relationship with Crowley as well. 

_I just hope he can forgive me,_ he thought, and glanced at the sofa on the other side of the room. He didn’t usually sleep this early, when he slept at all, but he supposed a lie-down could only do him good at this point. In the morning he planned to go and find Gabriel, to speak to him directly, and it wouldn’t do to look as though he was worrying too much. 

Aziraphale changed into his most comfortable set of pajamas and lay down on the sofa, pulling a tartan quilt over himself. As he relaxed into the cushions, he began thinking about how much better it would be if Crowley were there with him, in his arms, head on his chest. Aziraphale closed his eyes and imagined how the demon’s weight would feel on top of him. He’d be warm and soft, and perhaps he’d press a few sweet, clumsy kisses to Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale gave an involuntary shiver at the thought. As an angel, he didn’t get erections unless he willed it, but he was seriously tempted to will one into being now, just so he could work off some of this desire. 

There was no denying that he wanted Crowley, in every way. Determinedly, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to sink into sleep. Tomorrow, he’d find a way to stop the world from ending, and once everything was back to normal, he’d let the demon know exactly how he felt. 

* * *

  
Well, there it was. Crowley had his plan. It wasn’t a very good plan, or a very thorough one, but at least he had a destination in mind. 

Would Aziraphale like Alpha Centauri? How could he not? It was a lovely place, and they’d be together. They could snog each other and explore each other’s bodies, and talk about anything and everything until such time as someone bothered to come looking for them. Crowley hoped he’d have at least managed to lose his virginity by then. 

He wondered briefly whether Aziraphale suspected that he was a virgin. Surely not. 

Crowley dropped his head into his hands and moaned out loud. Perhaps he should have shagged someone at some point, just so he’d be ready for Aziraphale, but he’d never got around to it. Would Aziraphale be disappointed by his lack of experience? What if he turned out to be a crap lover? 

Well. He decided that proposing his Alpha Centauri plan to Aziraphale could wait a while. For now, perhaps he could start preparing himself for any sex he might be soon to engage in. 

The cinema wasn’t technically part of Crowley’s flat, as it existed in a slightly higher dimension. He wouldn’t have been able to add it on otherwise. He’d never shown it to anyone else, it was just sort of a refuge to which he retreated when he needed to be certain that he wouldn’t be disturbed. When he wanted to wank over Aziraphale, for example. 

It didn’t take long to find gay porn films - did it ever, at this point in history? - and when he did, Crowley picked one at random and began watching. He didn’t feel any sort of attraction to any of the people in these sorts of films, as Aziraphale was the be-all and end-all for him, but he could certainly appreciate their...techniques, as it were. 

He took mental notes as he watched the chaps in the film suck each other off. He was sure Aziraphale would like it if he ran his tongue over his cock first. Crowley had a rather extraordinary tongue, if he did say so himself. He felt confident that he could wrap it all the way around the angel’s cock and still have a bit left over to lick his balls. 

_Bet they taste good, his balls,_ Crowley thought to himself. _His lips certainly do._

He licked his own lips, remembering the last time he’d kissed the angel. His cock began to ache in his trousers. 

The porn film continued. Crowley left off touching himself until it was over and both of the men onscreen had come all over each other. _The money shot,_ Crowley thought, and shut off the film with a snap of his fingers. 

He unzipped his trousers and reached in, pulling his cock into his fist. This, at least, he knew how to do. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as he fisted his dick, thinking about Aziraphale. He had plenty to think about; every time he’d done this in the past, all he’d had was fantasies, but now he had something much better: memories. He could recall the exact taste of the scotch on Aziraphale’s tongue as they’d kissed for the first time, the erotic way the angel had touched his mouth to his ear and then his neck. Oh, Heaven, that neck kiss alone could have kept Crowley in masturbation aids for another thousand years. 

“I love you, angel,” Crowley moaned into the empty cinema, as he bucked his hips to get more friction on his cock. “I’m going to fix...everything…. _oh._ ” He came suddenly and rather unspectacularly, then shuddered as he ran his thumb over the sensitive tip of his penis. He hoped he’d manage to last a bit longer if and when he and Aziraphale actually had sex, though he doubted it. 

Crowley miracled away his come and stared up at the ceiling as he came down from his orgasm. 

He checked his watch. Still a bit too early to go and see Aziraphale. 

Crowley picked up the remote and turned back to the screen. Time to watch something a bit more light-hearted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've never seen it, "Would I Lie To You?" is a British panel show in which members of one team make claims and the members of the other team ask them questions to try to figure out whether the claims are true or not. It's hilarious and I highly recommend it.


	4. Low Point (Episode 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley in the pub before Aziraphale appears to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this is not a happy chapter! The next chapter, which I'm 95% sure will also be the last one, will be post-Ritz and much more cheerful! 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's subscribed to, given kudos to, and commented on this fic so far!

Whiskey was not Crowley’s favourite thing to drink. That honour had to go to either scotch or red wine from the 1860s. However, he doubted that the pub to which he’d arbitrarily driven had any wine that old, and scotch would remind him too much of the first time he’d kissed Aziraphale. And so, he’d chosen whiskey, the next best thing and something that would, if nothing else, get him quickly and decidedly drunk. 

He was an emotional wreck. His hands were shaking as he poured himself a third glass, and he could feel an enormous sense of pressure behind his eyes as if he wanted to cry - which he did, desperately, but as a demon, he wasn’t able to produce tears. 

He drained the glass in three sips and poured another. He had every intention of drinking the entire bottle, and then probably ordering another. Then maybe another? Fuck it; what did it matter? He was going to drink until the world ended, and then he’d turn himself over to Hell and let them do whatever they wanted with him. No infernal punishment could even begin to compare to what was already happening to him. By taking Aziraphale away they’d already inflicted more pain on him than any holy water ever could. 

Holy water. Crowley blessed himself for having used it all up on Ligur. He should have had the foresight to leave a bit for himself. It crossed his mind that perhaps he could find a church and get hold of some, but he was already too drunk to drive and there was no way he was going to sober up. And so, he simply threw back another glass, feeling the thirst it left behind but refusing to order anything that would quench it. He wanted to be thirsty; he wanted to be dizzy and nauseous and unable to walk a straight line; he wanted to feel as utterly awful physically as he did emotionally. 

Crowley wondered what it was like to be dead. All the humans were going to be finding out soon, and he probably wouldn’t be far behind them. He had to admit, he was a bit peeved that he was going to die a virgin after all, but death couldn’t be all that bad, really, if the alternative was this mix of grief, pain, guilt, and impotent fury for the rest of time. 

_I should have gone to him sooner,_ Crowley thought. _But I just had to have a wank, didn’t I? Maybe if I’d got there sooner, I could’ve convinced him._ Disjointed thoughts dragged themselves through his brain, made slow by the alcohol. _Why did I leave him alone? I ought to have stayed with him; surely he knows I’d never go to Alpha Centauri without him. Did he know I love him? He must have done; I told him so. I never told him that he was my first kiss, though. Oh, God, I’ll never kiss him again._

Crowley pressed a hand to his lips as if some piece of Aziraphale might still be there. He squeezed his eyes shut behind his sunglasses and a few dry, harsh sobs worked their way into his palm. 

_If there’s a way, I’ll find you again, angel. I’ll take as many demons as I can down with me, and when we’re both dead I’ll look for you._

That made no sense, and he knew it, but it was true nonetheless. 

Crowley shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He needed a piss, but the idea of dragging himself to the toilet seemed impossible. How could he ever move again, except to throw booze down his neck until he passed out or the world ended, whichever came first? 

He’d had such plans about sharing the non-destroyed world with Aziraphale. Eventually he’d have gathered the courage to tell him the whole truth, to take his clothes off and place kisses on his chest, his hands on his arse. 

_A ring on his finger._

Crowley poured another glass and gulped the contents. Well. There’d never be any of that now. Aziraphale was doomed, and so was the world. 

And so was Crowley. 


	5. After the Ritz (Episode 6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode 6 - after "to the world".

After dinner and drinks at the Ritz, they slept together. In the most literal sense. 

The stamina possessed by an immortal being was considerable, but it was finite. As long as they inhabited human bodies, they needed to rest from time to time. And there was no better time to rest than after you’d been instrumental in stopping the Apocalypse, gone into enemy territory in order to avert execution, and drunk a bottle of champagne each. 

Crowley’s bed was more than big enough for two people, but they fell asleep tangled so close together that there was still plenty of free space. Crowley didn’t think he’d ever been this _comfortable_ before. He wasn’t worried about Heaven or Hell, his sheets had a very high thread count, and Aziraphale was in his arms. Unconsciousness was black and soothing, in all the best ways. 

Aziraphale was gone when he woke up, but Crowley could smell coffee, so he wasn’t worried. He rolled off his bed and made his way to the kitchen, where the angel gave him a tender, melt-the-heart-in-your-chest sort of smile and poured him a cup of black. 

For himself, Aziraphale poured a cup of tea and sat down across from Crowley. For a moment, they just stared at each other, trying to believe. 

Crowley set his mug down and cracked his knuckles, wanting to shatter the quiet to pave the way for his next question: “Is this the new normal, then, Aziraphale? Are we a domestic couple? Sleep together, wake up together, tea and coffee in the mornings?” 

“I’d caution you against expecting me to make you coffee every morning, my dear,” Aziraphale said, adding some honey to his tea and stirring it. “But overall, yes. Assuming that’s what you want?” 

Crowley snorted into his drink. 

“I thought so,” Aziraphale said, sounding a level of giddy that wouldn’t have worked for anyone but an angel. 

Crowley looked up. For the first time, he noticed the fluffy dressing gown that Aziraphale was wearing, no doubt miracled from the bookshop. He grinned. “I love you,” he said. 

Aziraphale’s eyes shone and he reached for Crowley’s hand. “I love you too,” he replied. 

A surge of emotion sealed Crowley’s throat shut, and he almost expected to tear up despite the fact that demons couldn’t produce tears. He stared into his coffee, worried he might start sobbing if he continued looking at Aziraphale. 

He heard Aziraphale’s chair scrape across the floor, and then felt Aziraphale standing behind him, one hand on the back of his neck. Gently, Aziraphale slid his other hand under Crowley’s chin and tilted his head up. 

Aziraphale’s kiss was gentle, but his hands, holding tight to either side of Crowley’s face, told a different story. Crowley felt himself hardening as he kissed back, locking his own hands around his angel’s neck. 

_This is my boyfriend,_ he thought wildly, then realised how ridiculous that sounded. He was six thousand years old for Hell’s sake; surely that was too old to be referring to any romantic partner by such a juvenile word. _This is my partner, my other half, my...Satan, I hope he’ll be my husband one day. I think I’d rather like to have a husband._

Aziraphale’s tongue in his mouth took that last coherent thought and turned it into a mix of heavy breathing and aggressive arousal. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and pulled him into his lap, then sent his own tongue out to join the angel’s. Aziraphale groaned as he swept it over his teeth, curled it, flicked it against the roof of his mouth. He tasted like tea and celestial sweetness. 

Aziraphale bit Crowley’s lip, and Crowley dug his nails into his back, barely holding himself back from pressing his hard cock against Aziraphale’s thigh. It was rather embarrassing, how fast the angel could turn him on, but he wasn’t about to complain, and he didn’t think Aziraphale was either. 

When Aziraphale pulled back out of the kiss and tenderly brushed his mouth across Crowley’s forehead, Crowley said “I’m a virgin.” 

Aziraphale didn’t move for a second. When he did, it was to lightly kiss the skin below Crowley’s ear. “Are you really?” he whispered. 

“Yeah.” Crowley pushed lightly at Aziraphale’s chest, wanting to look into his eyes. Aziraphale smiled and touched his cheek gently. 

“Does that, ah…” Crowley swallowed. “Does that...make you feel any...type of way?” 

Aziraphale shrugged. “Not particularly. Though I admit I am rather excited to show you a few things.” He leaned down to kiss Crowley’s neck. 

“Oh.” Crowley leaned back, letting the angel suck at his throat, desperately hoping he’d leave a mark. Several marks. Any amount of marks. 

“Have you masturbated?” Aziraphale asked, lips still on Crowley’s neck. 

“I’ve been pining after you for thousands of years. Of course I’ve masturbated.” 

“Have you ever imagined my hands on you?” Aziraphale pushed his tongue into the gap between Crowley’s shoulder and his collarbone, then bit down lightly. “Have you wished it was me touching you, wanking you off?” 

Crowley’s cock throbbed with the need to be touched. Who knew an angel could talk like that? “Fuck, Aziraphale, yes…” 

“Yes, what?” Aziraphale asked, lips still on Crowley’s warming skin. 

“Yes, I wished it was you.” Crowley slid his hands down to Aziraphale’s backside and squeezed. 

Aziraphale pulled back, giving him a look of desperate yearning mixed with boundless love. “Well,” he said. “Why don’t we go to bed, and you can tell me what you imagined?” 

Crowley nodded feverishly, and Aziraphale helped him to his feet. As soon as he stood up, Crowley had to adjust his pajama trousers, as his dick was pushing against them, hard and obvious. Aziraphale smiled down at the bulge, then said “I think you’d be more comfortable with those off, wouldn’t you, dear?” 

“Ngk,” was all Crowley could manage before Aziraphale knelt in front of him and placed his hands on his hips. “May I?” the angel asked. 

“Y-yes,” Crowley stuttered, and Aziraphale pulled his trousers down to the floor. 

It was a relief to have his cock free. Crowley stepped out of the trousers, shivering a little from a combination of the sudden chill on his bare legs and nerves. Aziraphale smiled up at him. “May I touch you?” he asked. 

As much as it pained him, Crowley shook his head. “No. Let’s go to the bedroom first.” 

“As you like.” Aziraphale stood up and took Crowley’s hand. 

“Let me lead, angel,” Crowley said, moving past the angel. “My flat, after all.” 

“Of course.” Aziraphale followed him graciously back to the spacious bedroom, and Crowley guided him to sit on the bed, remaining standing himself. 

“Can I take your clothes off, angel?” he asked, reaching uncertainly for Aziraphale’s dressing gown. 

“Yes, of course. Especially as I’ve already started on you,” Aziraphale replied. His eyes flicked down to Crowley’s crotch. “You have a beautiful penis, by the way.” 

“I, er - thank you,” Crowley said. “I bet you do too.” 

Aziraphale raised one eyebrow in challenge, and Crowley pushed the dressing gown off his shoulders. His chest was bare underneath, and for a moment Crowley couldn’t focus on anything but the lovely smoothness of his skin. He pushed Aziraphale over and climbed on top of him, then began messily kissing his chest, tasting his flesh, marvelling at the softness of the light blond hair against his face. 

Aziraphale groaned in satisfaction and wrapped his arms around Crowley, holding him close. Crowley continued kissing, sucking occasionally, making a mental note every time Aziraphale drew in his breath or held him tighter. His own erection had relaxed a bit, so he was more able to focus on Aziraphale. After a few moments, Crowley looked up into his lover’s face. “How ‘m I doing?” he asked. 

“Wonderfully.” The affection in Aziraphale’s blue eyes was heart-wrenching. “Crowley, have you never…? I mean, I know you said you’re a virgin, but-”

Crowley sat up. “You were my first kiss,” he confessed. 

Aziraphale’s jaw dropped. “Oh, darling.” 

Crowley waved a hand impatiently. “Don’t make a big deal out of it, angel. It’s not...I mean, it’s not like I’m a blushing bride, or something. I know what…that is to say, I know what happens. I’ve just...never done it.” 

Aziraphale nodded. “Well, is there anything in particular you’d like? For your first time?” 

“Can we just sort of see where it goes?” 

“Of course.” Aziraphale lay back down. “I was quite enjoying what you were doing before, if you don’t mind…?” 

Accommodatingly, Crowley began kissing the angel’s chest again. Eventually he reached his stomach, and his fingers wandered a bit further, to the waistband of Aziraphale’s pants. “Can I?” 

“Yes.” Aziraphale sounded breathless. Crowley felt a rush of anticipation. Slowly, he slid his hand into Aziraphale’s underwear. 

Aziraphale’s skin was warm and his cock was hard. As soon as Crowley wrapped his fingers around it, he felt an extreme need to see it. He ripped Aziraphale’s pants down, and there it was, the dick he’d been dreaming of for centuries. The sight brought his own erection back with reinforcements. “Oh, angel, can I suck it?” 

The words came out before Crowley really had the chance to think about them, and he instantly clapped his mouth shut, but Aziraphale just laughed gently. “If that’s what you want, dear, I won’t deny you, but please do let me get naked first.” With that, he slid his pants the rest of the way off, then removed his dressing gown and tossed it aside. That accomplished, he gave Crowley a ‘come hither’ look, and Crowley descended onto his cock as if it were a cure for damnation. 

“Oh, _Crowley_!” Aziraphale gasped, clutching at the sheets, closing his eyes and trying to keep himself from thrusting into his lover’s mouth. “Oooh, I must’ve whiled away decades wondering what that tongue would feel like on me!” 

Crowley pulled back just long enough to say “And now you know,” and then resumed sucking his angel off.

Aziraphale held still - for the most part; his hips thrust occasionally of their own accord in response to Crowley’s suction - and enjoyed it. Crowley closed his eyes in pleasure as he continued tonguing the angel’s cock - Satan, he couldn’t even begin to guess how many times he’d pictured himself doing this. The taste was perfect, and the weight and thickness of Aziraphale’s penis on his tongue were tremendously satisfying. Almost without conscious thought, he reached between his legs and squeezed his own cock, wanting to grind against something. He was viciously aroused, and it was almost impossible to resist making a fist and bringing himself off right there. 

Aziraphale noticed the motion of Crowley’s hand in his lap and sat up, grabbed the demon by the hair, and pulled him off his dick. Crowley coughed in surprise even as his groin prickled anew with desire. He made a mental note to ask Aziraphale to pull his hair more often, even as the angel yanked him into a messy pile on his lap and kissed him. 

Half atop Aziraphale, half on the floor, Crowley kissed back, letting Aziraphale taste his tongue. With an uncoordinated but efficient movement, he hauled himself fully onto the bed, onto the angel, until he could grind against his thigh. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale wrapped his hands around Crowley’s head and pulled him in for an even deeper kiss. Teeth clashed, lips bruised, tongues collided as they tried to press ever closer to each other. 

Crowley slid an uncertain hand down Aziraphale’s body to wrap around his cock and began to move his fist. Aziraphale moaned and turned away from the demon’s kiss. “Darling, do you want to come like this?” His fingers tapped Crowley’s cock uncertainly, and Crowley pushed forwards into his hand. 

“Honestly, angel? Right now, I just want to come.” With his free hand, he curved Aziraphale’s hand tighter around him, hissing gently at the friction. “There’s so much I want to do with you…” 

“And we’ll do all of it,” Aziraphale promised. He smiled, looking into Crowley’s eyes. “But even we can’t do it all at once.” 

“‘S alright,” Crowley choked. “Just…” 

Understanding what he wanted, Aziraphale tightened his hand. They kissed sloppily as they moved their hands on each other’s cocks, speeding up gradually, groaning onto each other’s lips. 

There was no finesse or grace; it was just messy, needy humping, and in all honesty, it was what they were both craving. After six thousand years of waiting for this to be possible, getting off together was the first and foremost desire in both of their hearts. 

Aziraphale, thanks to the blowjob he’d got before the handjob had started, came first, shuddering and burying his face in Crowley’s neck as he whispered “Oh, yes, that’s good... _ooohhhh_ , yes, Crowley….” 

The gush of come over his hand was what did Crowley in. The knowledge that he could bring an angel, Aziraphale, no less, to orgasm was more than enough to get him the rest of the way. He was much louder about it, however; he damn near shouted in pleasure when Aziraphale’s hand brought him to his own climax. Aziraphale squeezed his cock, milking him as Crowley whimpered curse words into the angel’s hair, unable to help himself as his body surged with pleasure and then relaxed into Aziraphale’s arms. 

It took a good few minutes for both of them to recover, but as soon as they did they were kissing again, their spent cocks between them, their skin wet and sticky with sweat and come, but neither of them caring as they held each other close. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale whispered, kissing Crowley’s forehead. 

“I love you, angel. Oh, so very much.” Crowley closed his eyes in bliss as Aziraphale kissed his forehead. They lay together, drained of energy but filled with adoration, cuddling, enjoying the moment. 

They lost track of time as they lay in Crowley’s bed, lazily kissing, touching each other, whispering words of devotion. Thankfully, time didn’t matter anymore; nothing was time-sensitive here. There was no longer an Apocalypse to stop; they’d done that already, and now all they had to do was be together. 

They’d done the impossible, and now they’d enjoy everything they’d saved. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who subscribed, left comments and kudos, and just read this fic in general! I appreciate you all <3

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoyed the fic? Want more? Let me know and subscribe!
> 
> Please note that I would LOVE to know what your favourite line was.


End file.
